


Breakfast fit for a Queen

by TaleWeaver



Series: The Strange Case of Dr Stark and Mr Snow [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Jekyll and Hyde, Jon was adopted by Benjen, Jon's existential identity crisis is even worse than in canon, Married Jonsa, but she's more than up to the challenge, though Sansa got more than she bargained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24838291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWeaver/pseuds/TaleWeaver
Summary: Part of the Strange Case of Dr Stark & Mr Snow: Jon and Sansa at the breakfast table.Written for jonsa dungeons and drabbles kinkweek 2020.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: The Strange Case of Dr Stark and Mr Snow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796692
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86
Collections: JonsaKinks





	Breakfast fit for a Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Praise Kink/Dirty talk.
> 
> This was originally supposed to be from Sansa’s pov; Jon’s dirty talk was going to be nothing more than the ‘thoroughly’ and ‘comprehensively’ remarks, with flashbacks on Sansa’s part doing the rest. Then Jon decided it was his turn instead.  
> This might not fit the general definition of ‘dirty talk’ – but dirty talk depends on what you make of it. And the reaction it sparks.
> 
> Victorian slang note: ‘gas-pipes’ were especially tight pants; the Victorian equivalent of skinny jeans.

“I must admit, Sansa, I had some misgivings about moving the breakfast table to the conservatory, but you were absolutely right. Breakfast is much more cheerful in the sunshine.”

Dr Jon Stark tilted his head to the side and regarded the lovely sight of his wife in the morning. Jon had long taken his sartorial cues from her, which meant he had not bothered to don tie or coat before sitting down to breakfast. Sansa was a quiet but fervent follower of the rational dress movement, which meant that among other things she refused to wear a tight-laced corset, or indeed any corset at all until necessary. Which meant that she was breakfasting wearing her dressing gown, chemise, stockings, and house slippers. Her hair had already been dressed for the day, piled delicately on top of her head, and the aquamarine drop earrings that had been his wedding gift to her twinkled in the sunlight.

“Jon, is there any more ham available? I’m positively famished this morning.”

“Of course, darling,” Jon replied, handing her the platter. 

By the merry wink Sansa sent him, Jon had a good idea of how she’d worked up that appetite. He had gone to sleep early, but had found it a chore to drag himself out of bed this morning; it was only after two cups of coffee that he’d felt like a proper human being. In the back of his mind, The Beast was purring quietly with a highly self-satisfied air.

Jon wondered just how many hours The Beast had spent pounding away between his wife’s thighs last night.

Taking another sip of coffee, Jon remonstrated with himself. Sansa was right; he needed to stop seeing The Beast as a separate entity - it was a part of him. The potion he’d invented to divide man into good and evil did no such thing, at least not for him. He trusted Sansa’s observations on this matter. Yes, The Beast had highly increased physical strength and agility, and abnormally sharp senses, but not to supernatural levels. In its current form the potion simply brought out the full potential of a human’s abilities. If Jon had spent his childhood and youth exercising with weights and training in acrobatics, he could perform all the same feats The Beast could. As for The Beast’s immense appetite for fornication, that was simply a reaction to the cloistered life Jon had led before his marriage. All his passions had been reserved for science and his studies.

Naturally, he’d studied the details of reproduction, but never felt the need for personal experience. When he’d offered his hand in marriage to get Sansa out of a very nasty situation, Jon had known it was his duty to ensure his wife enjoyed the marriage bed. He’d been completely unprepared for how much he enjoyed it himself. He’d nearly caused three nasty and potentially lethal accidents in his laboratory in as many days, because he was thinking about coupling with Sansa instead of concentrating on his equipment. That was what had driven him to perfect the vague idea he’d had for the Original Sin potion – green as the Apple of Knowledge. If he could separate the rational, clear-thinking part of himself from the instinctive part driven by his appetites and impulses, he could make sure that in the laboratory he thought only of science, leaving his lustful desires restricted only to the bedchamber at night.

But Mr Snow, as The Beast had identified himself, proved able to dominate Jon’s consciousness without use of the potion whenever certain triggers were activated, like trip-wires in a battlefield of the mind. Most of them concerned Sansa. A threat to Sansa or Jon’s own wellbeing triggered immediate violence. His wife looking particularly appealing – which happened on a near-daily basis – triggered the immediate urge to lift his wife’s skirts and mate with her until she and Snow were both thoroughly satisfied.

Sansa forked another two slices of fried ham onto her plate, and started on her poached egg. “Mya does the ham wonderfully, doesn’t she? I wonder if we should give her a raise. She’s been very accommodating of our odd hours.”

“Why don’t we look at the household finances this afternoon?” Jon suggested.

Mya really was very good about serving proper meals under trying circumstances. There was Jon’s habit of getting lost in his experiments and turning up to meals late or not at all, there was Sansa’s lemon cake habit, as well as the increasing habit of asking Mya to make up some cold meals that Sansa could finish herself – despite the utter indignity of having her domain invaded by the lady of the house – because of both Sansa and Jon giving the servants an extra day off at least once a fortnight because they wanted privacy to spread the joys of the marital bed to various locations around the house. Not to mention frequently putting back dinner half an hour on short notice because the mood for said joys striking swiftly and in need of immediate satisfaction.

After all, Snow’s lusts did not in the least diminish Jon’s own constant desires for his wife. Especially as Sansa had firmly stood by his side in a state of affairs she never could have guessed would come up in her marriage. She had not only calmly accepted the situation Jon had gotten himself into, but embraced it. Sansa maintained that regardless of the drastic differences between himself and Snow, they were both part of the man she’d married. Sansa’s theory was that when Jon accepted Mr Snow’s appetites and impulses as part of himself, fully integrating them into his personality, that the loss of time would cease and Jon would be able to access all of Snow’s memories. Jon was simply having a very drastic example of what the psychiatric study she’d found termed ‘an identity crisis’. 

Jon looked at his wife, enjoying her breakfast, and felt a different kind of hunger. The Beast stirred, and Jon firmly shut a mental door in his face. This was _his_ time with Sansa.

Perhaps it was time to become more... experimental... with his desires for his wife.

Jon rose, went to the door of the conservatory, and locked it. Then he moved to stand behind his wife’s chair, and bent until his mouth was next to her delicate ear.

“I locked the door, because I don’t want any interruptions,” he murmured.

“Oh?” Sansa asked, her voice taking on a breathy tone. “Why is that?”

“Because by the time breakfast is finished, I’m going to _thoroughly_ fuck you.”

Jon straightened, and returned to his seat.

Sansa carefully ate another bite of egg and toast. “May I ask how thoroughly?”

“Comprehensively.” Jon ate several more bites of ham. It really was delicious.

“Perhaps I’ll lay you out on the floor, put your legs over my shoulders and bring my knees underneath me for leverage? No, that’s a silly idea. The tile is hard and cold and the position might muss your hairstyle.”

“Perhaps we could try it in summer?” Sansa suggested, before finishing her egg.

She shifted in her seat. Jon wondered if she was sore from The Beast’s attentions the previous night.

The Beast offered several memories, not only of the previous night but several other times he’d taken Sansa, each more salacious than the last. Sansa seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed herself in all of them.

“It might be better if I bent you over the table and took you from behind,” Jon mused, sipping his coffee. “Would you be able to hold yourself up high enough for me to fondle your breasts as I thrust myself into your cunt?”

Sansa nearly choked mid-swallow, and coughed to ease the way of her bite of ham. “I’m sure I could.”

Jon decided to let her finish the slice of ham. If his wife was going to choke on meat, it should be his. His rapidly hardening manhood agreed.

Jon finished his own ham and started on his toast with marmalade. He munched thoughtfully, swallowed, and offered, “Or would you prefer to take me instead? Straddle me in this chair, impale yourself on my cock, and post up and down until we both climax?”

Sansa licked her lips, and stared at Jon much like she did a platter of fresh lemon cakes accompanied by whipped cream. “That sounds like a marvellous idea, but I’m not sure these chairs are really suitable. We might try it in your study.”

Jon considered it, but shook his head. “I have plans for my study involving the desk.”

“Why not both?” Sansa suggested coolly, sipping her tea.

“That’s an excellent point, darling. But we still haven’t settled how I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Well, you’d better make up your mind, Jon, I only have one slice of ham and my tea left.”

“Hmmm. I have an idea.” Jon stood up from the table, and moved to the side between Sansa’s chair and his own, facing the semi-circle of windows. He reached under the table, and brought forth an extra leaf.

He patted the newly exposed table top. “Why don’t you sit here?”

Sansa dabbed at her lips with her napkin, and pushed back her chair. When she settled onto the table, the blue and silver brocade of her dressing gown glowed in the sunlight, and new flames came out in her hair. Jon reached out and gently pulled her dressing gown further open, then off her shoulders, the brocade dropping to the oak tabletop. Sansa’s chemise for the day had a row of buttons down the front and undoing them all allowed Jon to not only expose her breasts, but to pull the chemise away from her torso to pool at her hips the same way as her dressing gown. Sansa pulled the hem of her chemise up her thighs, high enough to reveal a hint of copper between them. Jon gently grasped her knees and moved them apart, as widely as possible. The very first time he’d surfaced, Snow had ordered Sansa to cease wearing drawers. Jon loved the thought of Sansa always bare and ready for the taking, so much that he had never attempted to countermand the order. Luckily, Sansa enjoyed being without drawers as much as he enjoyed her being without them, and for much the same reason.

For several moments, Jon simply gazed at the bare-breasted goddess before him, thighs spread obscenely wide and waiting for his worship. He had truly been blessed by the Old Gods of the Weirwoods. 

Then he knelt to pay tribute to her cunt.

Sansa arched her back as his tongue explored her folds, and moaned as his the tip of his tongue flickered over her nub. Placing her hands on the tabletop for support, she tilted her hips to allow his thick fingers to probe the slick heat of her cunt. She took two fingers easily, and Jon curled them, unerringly finding the place inside that swiftly brought her to orgasm. Sansa shuddered and moaned, her juices smearing his mouth and chin, and Jon wondered how his clean-shaven jaw differed from the beard The Beast sprouted. Did it irritate her ivory skin, or did she find it stimulating?

Jon clambered to his feet, and reached under his waistcoat both front and back to undo the fastenings of his suspenders. His trousers plummeted to the floor, revealing that unlike Mr Snow with his ridiculous gas-pipes, he still wore drawers himself. It took only seconds for them to join his trousers, leaving him bare from hip to ankle. His shirt-tails were parted by his aggressive erection, rather like a prankster peeking out from where they’d concealed themselves behind the curtains. Sansa smiled and reached down to fondle his erection with loving fingers, and Jon groaned in appreciation. 

“Put your arms around my neck.”

As Sansa’s arms encircled his neck and shoulders, Jon reached down to grasp the backs of her bare thighs. Keeping them spread wide, he lifted Sansa and brought her body flush against his own before lowering her onto his shaft. Sansa moaned as he slowly penetrated her, inching her down along his cock until she could go no further. Crouching slightly to give himself room to manoeuvre, Jon rocked his hips up and down and in and out, Sansa’s sighs and gasps urging him on, until he felt the flutters of her cunt that foretold her climax. As the flutters became rhythmic clenching, Jon let out a heartfelt groan of release and relief as his seed filled his wife.

Jon clutched her close until the aftermath of his desire ebbed away and his arms started to protest, and then shuffled to place Sansa back on the table.

“Bloody hell. The dratted handkerchief’s in my trouser pocket,” Jon sighed in exasperation.

Sansa laughed, and searched the folds of brocade to produce one from her dressing gown. Cleaning up taken care of, Dr and Mrs Stark put their dishevelled clothing to rights and finished breakfast.

“You know, Jon, I’ve heard that the Queen has twelve dishes at breakfast! Even two dishes of smoked fish!”

“We could have smoked fish for breakfast if you wanted, Sansa. But I thought you didn’t like it?”

Sansa nodded. “I don’t. I was just wondering at the extravagance of it all. Do you suppose Prince Albert and the children join her, or is it all for her?”

“No idea,” Jon shrugged. “All I know is that I’ll take our breakfast over eating like the Queen any and every day.”

Sansa smiled back at him in a way that made The Beast rumble in interest again.


End file.
